


Just Gathering Data

by pascaler23



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Most ridiculous thing I ever wrote, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smutlock, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pascaler23/pseuds/pascaler23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I need your help.”</p><p>You look up from your computer screen to find Sherlock standing at the opposite side of the desk, holding a book and looking at you.</p><p>“I can’t right now, I have to finish this for tomorrow,” you answer him, pointing at your laptop.</p><p>The detective just walks around the desk, stopping in front of you and dropping the book on the work surface, preventing you to continue what you were doing. You’re about to tell him to let you work in peace when you notice the title of the book.</p><p>“The Kama Sutra,” you read aloud.</p><p>Or the one where Sherlock wants to test the effects of keeping a particular sexual position during an entire sexual intercourse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Gathering Data

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from. I don't even know if it's good. I just know it's the most ridiculous thing I ever wrote.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> PS: I'm francophone, so sorry for any mistakes in the text, I tried my best to correct.

“I need your help.”

You look up from your computer screen to find Sherlock standing at the opposite side of the desk, holding a book and looking at you.

“I can’t right now, I have to finish this for tomorrow,” you answer him, pointing at the document on the screen before starting to type again.

The detective just walks around the desk, stopping in front of you and dropping the book on the work surface, preventing you to continue what you were doing. You’re about to tell him to let you work in peace when you notice the title of the book.

“The Kama Sutra,” you read aloud with a flat voice, taken aback by the turn of events.

“Obviously, you don’t need to say it aloud.”

Ignoring his comment because you’ve become immune to them by now, you start looking through the pages, your brow creasing when you notice some of the pictures have a little checked symbol next to them with little annotations written by Sherlock’s illegible handwriting. 

“Have you been keeping tracks of the sexual positions we’ve done?” you ask him with an unbelieving voice, still looking at the book.

“Gathering data,” he answers absentmindedly while taking the book from your hands and flipping through the pages quickly. “That is not the reason I am showing you this anyway.”

“Why do you even have a copy of the Kama Sutra?”

“Please, is there any famous book I wouldn’t own?” he scoffs.

Well, you have to admit his point.

“Look,” he tells you after a few seconds, placing the book back in front of you. The [picture](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/6c/11/5a/6c115a8a83b2e7e227b498f7ee7e9696.jpg) on the page Sherlock has opened showed a man sitting on a stool while a woman was sitting on his lap, back arched so her head would arrive a few inches above the ground.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you see?” he asks you vehemently. “It would be impossible for a woman to keep that position for an entire sexual intercourse and not to pass out because of the higher pressure blood pressure in her head and behind her eyes. She’d inevitably turn dizzy and blind after a few minutes. There’s even a weak probability of her having a stroke.”

“Ha, and you want to calculate how long it’ll take before I have a stroke? How sweet of you.”

“Oh stop it, you’re not as daft as Donovan. I just want you to tell me when you start feeling too dizzy, then we’ll change position.”

“Can we do it another time?” you suggest instead. “I know that when you have an experiment to do it never leaves your mind but surely there’s another one that peaked your interest you haven’t done yet? I can’t afford being more late on my work.”

Sherlock seems taken aback a little. “I am surprised. You are usually a lot more enthusiastic about activities of sexual nature.”

You chuckle, looking at your boyfriend with fond eyes. He is just so… Sherlock. You love the way he makes you see things you’ve never seen before, how he sees things unlike everybody you ever knew, especially the way he sees you. You still don’t understand how this man could love you, but you figured long ago to stop trying to find a reason and just revel in the incredible luck you have. 

“I’m sorry darling, but we’ve spent the whole weekend on your cases and I didn’t advanced in my work at all. I don’t have a choice.” 

He makes a face, closing the book soundly. When you start typing on the keyboard again, he gets up and disappears in his room. It’s only a few minutes later that you feel his hands on your forearms, making you jump in surprise.

“For God’s sake, Sherlock, you scared me,” you tell him with a little laugh.

“Mmm,” he answers, letting his lips travel from your shoulders to your nape until he closes them over your neck and sucks.

“Sherlock,” you gasp, feeling your body melt under his ministrations. “Sherlock, I really can’t, I gotta-”

You stop talking when he leaves a trail of wet kisses up your neck until you feel his hot breath against your ear. “We can do it on my chair,” he murmurs.

Oh God. His chair. His black, leather chair that is one of your greatest fantasies and the only place in the flat Sherlock has always refused to make love on. “It’s my work chair, it’s not to be soiled,” he said. You don’t really understand why not the chair when you had sex in the laboratory at Bart’s and at Scotland Yard and those counted as work places, too, but there was no understanding Sherlock’s way of thinking.

“You never want to do it on your chair,” you answer, bending your head to give him best access to your neck.

“This is a one time opportunity, then,” he says while passing a hand under your shirt.

“You manipulator,” you accuse while fisting your hand in his hair. God, you love his locks. So soft.

“You love it.” 

Instead of answering, you get up, pressing your chest against Sherlock’s and encircling his neck with your arms. You press your lips to his, moving toward his chair without ever quitting each other’s mouths. He passes the tip of his tongue along your lower lip, silently asking for entrance. You feel the velvety of his tongue against yours as he kisses you deeply, the warm taste of his mouth. You don’t think you could ever get enough of him, of the hard press of his body against yours. The two of you are fighting for the dominance of the kiss when he finally sits down. You install yourself on his lap, knees on each side of his thighs, and you let go of his lips to nibble at his ear instead.

Sherlock groans, passing your shirt over your head and licking the skin above the line of your bra. Your arch your back to encourage him, gasping when you feel him sucking on your nipples through the fabric. You pass your hands behind yourself to unhook the piece of clothing, Sherlock helping you remove it.

“Impatient, are you?” he asks you with a pleased smile.

“Shut up and get to business,” you answer, pulling his head down, and you can feel him smirk against your breasts. You moan when he finally closes his mouth over them, licking and sucking and nibbling softly, making you close your eyes and pull his hair. His mouth is so hot, and you need to feel it against you, need to feel Sherlock close to you. He licks your nipple before softly blowing on it, making you shiver and grasp him harder. Leaving a wet trail of kisses when he moves to your other breast, the detective teases you with his teeth and tongue, and you’re going to go mad if he doesn’t stop. 

“Sherlock,” you say helplessly, unbuttoning his shirt. When it is half opened you raise a hand and pinch his nipple, making him gasp and let go of yours. You push him back against the backrest and press your body down on his erection, earning yourself a groan from your boyfriend. With a wicked smile, you bend down and return him the favour, licking your way slowly down his chest, stopping occasionally to bite his skin, leaving marks for him to remember he’s yours. His hands caress helplessly your back, head thrown on the chair and presenting his creamy throat to you, and it’s too beautiful to resist. When you close your lips over his Adam’s apple, he pushes you back with a groan and you can feel one of his hand find its way under your skirt and into your panties. Your mouth falls opens when he strokes you, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder, repressing moans of pleasure as he caresses your clit.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he murmurs suavely into your ear. “I want to see you.”

With difficulty, you raise your head so your eyes lock with his. The sight of him only highers your arousal. His eyes are dark with his dilated pupils, only a rim of that blue you love visible. His hair is a mess from how your hands had played with it, and his mouth is looking wet and filthy, inviting. You can’t help it but kiss it, taking his lower lips between your teeth and pulling, making him shot a passionate, dark look at you. Under your skirt you feel his fingers move down until they are coated in your juices.

“Mmm, so ready for me. I can’t wait to take you, to fill you and be engulfed in your tight heat.”

You only response is to push down until his finger is inside you. When you realize he has no intention of moving, looking at you with a smirk, you start riding his hand, making your boyfriend chuckle at your eagerness. You shut him up by pressing a hand down on his erection, and the heated look he gives you is indescribable, making you feeling smug.

“Clothes off. Now,” he orders hoarsely, and forces you to get up. You quickly remove your skirt and underwear as you avidly watch him taking his cock out of his pants, giving it a few strokes. Already the head is leaking, and you long to taste it on your tongue.

Sadly, Sherlock seems to have other plans, because he grabs your by your hips and make you sit on him with your opening just above his dick. The two of you look at each other in a silent agreement, and slowly you lower down until you are completely full with him. When you stop moving, you release a breath you didn’t even realize you had been holding, and you glance at Sherlock. He looks utterly debauched, mouth opened and eyes closed, some of his locks damp against his forehead, and you can’t help but be filled with arousal at the thought that you make him look like that, that you make Sherlock Holmes look like that.

You start riding him slowly, but he stops you and gently push you back.

“Remember the experiment," he tells you before you have the time to be confused, and with an amused shake of your head you stretch until your back is resting against his tibias. It’s really not comfortable, your back hurts and already you feel the blood accumulating in your head, but Sherlock is already bent over you and leaving a trail of wet kisses on your stomach, his fingers playing with your breasts, and you have to admit this position has some advantages.

“How is this?” he asks you.

“Not so bad.”

“Tell me when it gets too much,” he tells you, and starts moving.

That’s what you love about Sherlock. It’s not only his mind, his dry sense of humor or how he wants to share his vision of the world with you. It’s how he tells you he loves you with subtle messages, with gestures, never with big romantic declarations. It’s the way you can feel he loves you through everything he does, everything he says to you. How, just now, he prioritizes your well being instead of his experiment, which is something he would only do for a handful of people on this planet. How, even when conducting an experiment, he lavishes your body with kisses and whispers tender words in your ear, because it is more than that for him.

It’s no easy thing to thrust in that position, so Sherlock rocks his hips and moves in eight figures instead, and the novelty of the feeling has you moaning long and hard. You let your arms fall on both sides of your head, relaxing each muscles of your body and reveling in everything you feel. You squeeze around Sherlock’s cock, and he lets escape a growl, his pace becoming harder and faster. The force of his movements trains you with it, and within two minutes you start to see blurry and the spots on your back where Sherlock's knees are pressing into are getting rather uncomfortable.

“Babe- aaaah yes- I, I think it’s too much.”

“Alright,” he answers huskily, “Come here.”

Sherlock helps you reposition yourself sitting up, and you need a few seconds to regain your balance. You grab his shoulders, his slim muscles shiny with sweat and standing out with all the work Sherlock’s been doing in the last minutes holding you. Your boyfriend lets escape and involuntary groan, needing to thrust, and you feel his cock twitching inside you. The sensation always leave you breathless, to feel him so close to you, in you.

You start riding him, kissing him deeply as the two of you hold each other tight, and suddenly you feel overwhelmed. The feeling of his arms around you, the pounding of him inside you, the sound of flesh against flesh, the stroke of his tongue against yours, his smell, his little shaky breaths... All you can feel is Sherlock, all you can taste is Sherlock, all you can see is Sherlock and all you can smell is Sherlock, and it’s _glorious_. He strokes the side of your clit with his thumb, once, twice, thrice, and you become a shaking moaning mess in his arms, collapsing against him as you feel him thrusting in you in abrupt jerks. It’s only a matter of seconds before he follows you, gasping your name as you feel his come filling you.

The two of you spent the next few minutes still intertwined together, Sherlock dropping light kisses on your hair and forehead as the afterglow passes.

“So I was right,” he murmurs finally. “Obviously.”

You chuckle and slap his shoulder gently. “It just turns you on more, doesn’t it?”

He laughs too and drop a chaste kiss on your mouth. “Want to shower with me?” he suggests, looking fondly into your eyes.

“Good idea,” you answer softly, staring back at him, and the two of you get up on wobbly legs. When he is standing, Sherlock turns around and looks at his chair, making a disgusted face. Indeed, the object is slick with sweat and a little pool of semen stagnates in the hollow of the seat.

“It needs to be cleaned,” the detective says.

“You’re not making Mrs.Hudson do it.”

Sherlock sighs dramatically.

“I hate to clean things,” he grumbles, and you smack his arse gently so he starts walking toward the bathroom, you following him with a fond smile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Find me on http://canoe23.tumblr.com :)


End file.
